


stuck on you ( like a tattoo )

by dormant_bender



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Sexual Situations, Car Sex, Established Relationship, Euro 2016, Fluff and Smut, Goodbye Sex, Interviews, M/M, Secret Relationship, Sharing Clothes, Short One Shot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 16:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7114375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormant_bender/pseuds/dormant_bender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fernando doesn't want antoine to leave for the euros, at least not really, but he'd be damned if he let him leave without a memorable experience.</p><p>or the one where antoine is an avid shirt thief, but fernando doesn't mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stuck on you ( like a tattoo )

**Author's Note:**

> i've officially fell in the dumpster formally known as "fernantoine." 
> 
> come join me. being trash alone is boring.

    Nearly a week had passed since the initial shattering of the dream the brunet had possessed from such a young age; winning the Champions League would grant the world knowledge of who the best in the world was, unfortunately it wasn't Atletico's year. Not that he still harbors harsh feelings about the final, not as much as the freckled man that he had been spending the vast majority of his time with at least.

    Slender fingers are tapping impatiently against the door frame of the room, the brunet startled out of his thoughts, glancing back with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I don't know what to wear. I didn't bring enough clothes for this."

    Fernando allows an amused grin to flicker across his countenance, pointing toward the shirts lining the surface of the bed. "Those are all mine, Antoine."

    Pale cheeks flush scarlet, offering an awkward cough, as he reaches to press the pile of clothing into a tight ball. "I, uh—Really?" He lifts up one stark white shirt in particular then places it against his bare chest, quirking a brow: "You don't think I look good in your clothes?"

    "Actually, I prefer you wear none. But since you're doing an interview, I suggest you wear your own clothes. Mine don't fit you," states the man as he coins the latter a playful wink. "wouldn't want to stir up rumors, would we?"

    Antoine narrows his eyes at that, bottom lip poking out in a pout. Instead of offering a response, he tugs the shirt swiftly over his head then smooths it out upon his abdomen. "Whatever. How do I look?"

    " _Magnifique_."

    The Frenchman's countenance brightens considerably as he points an enthusiastic finger toward the elder. "So you have been reading the French for Dummies book I bought you?"

    "Not really, no. I might have skimmed it once or twice. It's not fun learning it without my favorite teacher," hums the man as he strolls into the room, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of Antoine's pants, tugging him close. Lips ghost along the younger's teasingly for a moment before he places a tender kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Now come on, you have an interview, and then we have a date."

    With that the elder is reluctantly peeling away from the brunet's form, to his dismay, and venturing in the direction of the bedroom door. Legs refuse to move, however, as he glances back toward the bed still littered in a variety of the elder's clothing. One thing about the end of the football season was that he would see less and less of Fernando over the next few months, especially now with the Euro's coming up.

    There would be no more late-night visits or casual stealing of clothing whenever he could accomplish it, he would be stuck with the collection of cologne-scented shirts he had managed to collect until training sessions began once more. Lips quirk down into a small frown as he brushes a hand delicately across one of the darker shirts, the elder's scent clinging mercilessly to it, then heaves a soft sigh.

    When he emerges within the living room area he finds it empty, the brunet heading straight for the door, finding a black van parked in the lot. Fernando has the window down at the very back of the van, nodding his head toward the van, beckoning the brunet with a curl of the finger.

    One thing he would genuinely miss in the most general sense was Fernando. Would miss constantly peppering kisses along every inch of freckled skin he could find. Miss waking up with plates of crepes as well as baguettes and a variety of other breakfast essentials, even if the latter wasn't particularly fond of the delicacies. The way those lips would quirk up into teasing smiles when the two were curled in bed together; how he would take advantage of him laughing at the silliness of the rom-com they were watching to press him down into the comforter, lips assaulting every inch of exposed skin.

    Finally he settles beside the elder, casting a melancholy smile, before he shifts to gaze out of the window where flowers are soon out of sight. A hand upon his upper thigh makes him shiver involuntarily, pretty blues glancing toward the elder, finding whiskey hues searching his gaze for something—the what, he wasn't certain.

    "I'm going to miss you so much," breathes the elder, sparing a glance toward where the driver is focused on the road and back. Fingers trace tiny circles upon the younger's cheek, eyes flickering between blues and velvet soft lips, before he leans forward to place a tender kiss to his lips. "Don't want you to leave after this."

    Blink, blink. Soft sighs spew from the Frenchman as he blindly pats at the seat until he finds himself laying down as flatly as possible, suddenly grateful for the dark tint of the windows. "I'm stealing all your shirts when we get back, just a head's up." At that the elder laughs, situating himself better on top of the younger, twining their fingers tightly together.

    "I don't care, take whatever you want." Lips are attached to the expose skin of his neck then, allowing teeth and tongue to graze along the smooth expanse. "If you're feeling cheeky, I have some briefs you can take."

    Chuckles bubble from the Frenchman as he spreads his legs, allowing the latter to easily fall between them, then presses upward into the forming bulge there. "You can keep a pair of my Sponge-bob and Adventure Time briefs then?"

    Another fit of laughter overwhelms the Spaniard, who buries his face within the lightly cologne-scented skin of the younger's neck, nuzzling the area there with his nose. "No thank you, you can keep those. You're a grown man, not a toddler." 

    "What do you suppose I do then?" Softly inquires the brunet as he tilts his head to allow the elder better access to his throat, gasping sharply when he earns himself a bite. 

    "Not wear any altogether, no one would know. No one but me."

    Whiskey hues glance upward toward the younger's face then, fair-skin thoroughly flushed, the blush reaching as far as his collar bones where they color a rosy pink. Grinning in triumph, the man allows a hand to travel beneath the too-large shirt to find the fastenings on the jeans the latter adorns, nimble fingers making quick work of them until he can snake a hand freely inside.

    What he finds is silky smooth skin as opposed to the material of underwear. The pad of his thumb strokes the smooth skin there appreciatively, retracting from his position to stare down at the brunet, who has his eyes clenched tightly shut though the smugness of his grin is forever present. He leans down to peck those lips fondly, pecks turning harsh until he works those pretty lips open to thoroughly assault the hot cavern.

    Hands are combating his own, however, as Antoine works at the jeans that Fernando adorns as well. Fingers are practically trembling as they tug down the denim and briefs until they're snug around toned thighs, warm hand wrapping firmly around his cock, offering him a tight squeeze. Curses spew from parted lips as he accidentally sinks teeth into the younger's lower lip, tugging on it to prevent another string of profanities from releasing.

    "Your interview, Anto." hisses the elder man as he presses another punishing kiss to those eager lips that chase after his when he bends his neck back.

    Pretty blues are rolling in response, the hand currently stroking his cock increasing in pace: "I don't care about that, I want you. Every day until I leave for France."

    "Fuck, don't say stuff like that."

    "Stuff like what?"

    Fernando growls low in his throat as he swats at the hand surrounding his cock away, instead replacing it with his own, sliding his own cock into his grip as well. Tightness surrounds both of the two, moaning in near unison as the two involuntarily jerk their hips into the grip, blue hues rolling backward in response. His forehead, already beginning to bead with sweat, presses against the younger's as he strokes their cocks in a newfound rhythm.

    Antoine is more than content with the current situation as he clenches his eyes tightly shut, exhaling hot puffs of air that tickle the tiny hairs at the top of Fernando's lip. "Tell me," croaks the brunet as he tilts his head slightly to capture thin lips into a searing kiss that leaves the elder's mouth reddened and bitten: "Tell me what you learned in French."

    Any semblance of a foreign language is lost to the Spaniard, however, as he instead takes control over the kiss that leaves the younger whining low in his throat. Obviously the Frenchman lacked the knowledge that when one was currently jacking off in the back of a van with someone so unbearably beautiful, that is was more than a little difficult to think about anything other than pleasuring each other.

    But nonetheless the Spaniard is parting his lips, "Ne me quitte pas.. I besoin que tu restes.. Avec moi.." manages the man in between bruising kisses, the younger bucking his hips insistently into the fist his hand makes at the words.

    "Don't want to," whimpers the brunet as he reaches a hand behind the elder's head, tugging him closer, holding him place. "I don't, you have to b-believe me.." 

    The words are lost to Fernando, the male far too preoccupied with stroking the their cocks, focusing more on the twists of his wrist and how the pad of his thumb rubs insistently at the head of the younger's cock until he's a writhing mess beneath him. Fernando joins the male in bucking without abandon, grip tightening on both their cocks, the friction of bare skin rubbing together not the most comfortable but somehow adding to the rawness of the emotion being shown.

    At least until Antoine is spluttering meaningless French when he's so close to approaching his peak, to which the Spaniard is hurriedly shifting, crouching in the limited space between the seats. Then its his mouth currently attached to the thickness of Antoine's cock, sucking and licking eagerly, until the bitter tang of his release explodes between his lips. 

    There's something almost majestic in the way the Frenchman bites at the back of his hand to silence himself, eyes clenching tightly shut, body convulsing with the force of his orgasm. Brows are furrowed tightly together, his idle hand going to the back of Fernando's head, holding him firmly in place as he rides out the abundant waves of bliss. Eventually he's nothing less than a heaving mess that hunches back against the seat, eyes finally blinking open, meeting the latter's whiskey hues.

    Antoine's thumb weakly darts out to swipe along the elder's lower lip, smearing the milky substance there, then placing that same finger within his mouth. Fernando, who's still achingly hard, watches the action without any ounce of shame as he reaches around the backseat until he finds a tissue box, plucking up a few, stroking until he finally offers a choked sob and is cumming into the thin wads of tissue.

    Short fingers are threading through Fernando's locks as he comes, drowsily sitting back against the seat, not minding the warmth of the cheek that rests upon his thigh. "I love you," abruptly states the man as he steadily strokes the silky strands, fingers massaging into his scalp. "S-so much.."

    Fernando weakly lifts his head from his thigh, offering a lazy smile, as he leans back until his head hits the back of the seat. He winces, Antoine laughs. He cleans up as best as possible with the wad of sticky tissues then glances around vigorously for a place to dispose of them, but ultimately finds nothing. He groans low in his throat as he climbs back into the seat, receiving help from the younger to tug his clothes back on properly, then plops down beside him with a groan.

    "This," he waves the tissues around with a crinkle of his nose: "is absolutely disgusting."

    "Disgusting but totally worth it." Echoes Antoine as he tugs up his pants, zipping them up, then attempting to smooth out his now wrinkled shirt.

    "Where am I gonna put this?" Then cheeks are warming up as he glances toward the driver, who now adorns a pair of headphones, the music audible even from the back of the van. "Shit."

    Antoine can only find humor in the situation though as he leans back against the door of the van, neatly placing his legs within the elder's lap. "You were being loud, I don't blame him. You better tip him good for this."

    "Me?" Blanches the man as he points incredulously to himself, playfully smacking the legs within his lap. "You know what? I don't regret it, it was worth it, you're right."

    Abruptly the van is stopping, the familiar flash of cameras nearly blinding the elder as he gazes out of the tinted window. It was a simple building with little to no color on the outside of it, to which the younger was meant to conduct an interview with a Sportscaster that would ask a litany of questions about not only the upcoming Euros but the loss against Real as well.

    What a way to let the situation die out.

    But Antoine has yet to leave the van, even when the driver glances back at him. He grips onto Fernando's bicep, squeezing it tightly. "I can't go on camera looking like this."

    "Oh stop, you're glowing. Get your ass out there." 

    "But I—"

    "—Quicker it's done, the quicker we go on our date—"

    "Fine."

    There was something more than amusing at the sight of the Frenchman exiting the van; gelled hair mussed and varying in direction, lips reddened, cheeks still a deep crimson. But somehow he manages to play it off as he smiles broadly at the camera, hands awkwardly attempt to soothe the wrinkles in the white shirt, glancing back at the van with a glare.

    And, yeah. 

    Fernando would definitely miss the younger, more than he could fathom.

-

    There he is on the bed of his hotel room with a variety of clothing splayed shamelessly across his bed, on full display for anyone who casually strolled in, not that he minded. It was an off day, no practice or anything, and he's sat there contemplating whether or not to call Fernando yet or not. He had heard the news that he didn't make it onto the squad, to which he could assume the elder was disappointed about, but hadn't actually had the downtime to call him about it.

    Fingers toy with an over-sized shirt he had snagged, the scent of the elder still desperately clinging even despite the weeks that had gone by. He finds himself bringing it to his nose, inhaling the scent deeply, then tugging it onto his bare chest, wearing only a pair of tiny briefs to cover his lower half.

    Eventually someone meanders in, quirking a curious brow, then smiles broadly. "I don't think that's yours, Anto." scolds the dark-skinned male, wagging a finger. "In fact: I know it's not yours."

    Antoine stares at Pogba for a moment, not opening his mouth to speak, but instead fiddling with the bottom hem of the shirt. "You think so?"

    "No, no. I said I _know_ so."

    Curious but also hesitant, the brunet quirks a brow, gaze narrowing as he coins the latter an accusative look. "What? How?"

    Paul can only broadly grin as he plops at the end of the bed, moving aside the clothing. "Probably because you're my roommate and I hear you talking to Nando late at night when you think I'm sleeping," he states confidently. "Plus I took Paulo's jersey with me, I'm just not obvious about it like you are."

    And for a moment, the brunet thinks he should feel ashamed, but instead he only smiles at that. At least he wasn't the only one who had someone in a land that seemed so unbearably far away. And he thinks, yeah, maybe he could actually do this whole tournament now that he had someone to relate to.

**Author's Note:**

> holla at a sista ?


End file.
